ONE
Azalea
“41!”
My spine snaps straight, chills skating down my skin. His voice makes me want to throw up.
Quintin never calls us by our names.
I was given a number the moment I signed that application—desperate enough that a man with yellowing teeth, promising shelter and good pay, felt like a miracle. I’d thought, for once, luck had finally found me. After weeks of living in an abandoned house, scavenging whatever scraps I could find, it almost felt deserved. Like maybe the universe had decided I’d suffered enough.
I was wrong.
It wasn’t luck.
It was misfortune.
Because the second I stepped through those doors, I stopped being a person.
I became a number.
A possession.
A prisoner.
There’s no way out. No way through.
Just obedience—
Or consequences.
I clench my fists and force my face to go neutral before turning to face him.
“Yes?” I drawl, faking nonchalance.
His smile is full of disgusting glee. “I have a new project for you, my dear.”
I swallow the bile that rises in my throat. “And that is?”
“Another Alpha. Our mission continues, and this one is for you.”
Shock slams into me like a freight train, almost stealing my breath away.
“What do you mean?”
His face gets annoyed as he blows out an impatient breath. “I know you’re slow, 41, but catch up. I need you to kill him. And quickly.”
My breath stalls and my ears start to ring. “But-“
He takes a step forward, face menacing. “No. I’ve coddled you enough since your parents passed. It’s time you step up and prove yourself.”
“You know I can’t!” I burst. “I don’t do those jobs! I do everything else but I can’t-“
The slap comes unexpectedly, and my cheek flames from where his hand made contact. I’ve never spoken out like that, but damn if it didn’t feel good.
“You keep that mouth of yours shut, understand?” He sneers. “I have been nothing but kind to you since you came here, but my patience only extends so far. You are here because I allow you to be, so either you do as you’re told or you’ll find yourself alone and homeless.”
Panic seizes my body, lungs locking up and muscles twitching with the need to move. I can’t go back to the streets. Those lonely and miserable nights I spent cold and almost dying from hunger.
I draw a deep breath through my nose and reluctantly say, “Alright. I’ll do it.”
The smile on his face makes me sick. “That’s the spirit. I knew you’d come around.”
He knew I would come around? Ever since he’s taken me in it’s been light thievery here or some high stakes blackmail and robbery there. He’s never asked me to kill. He knows I can’t.
“Details?” I push past my tight throat, forcing my panic to stay at bay.
“Alpha Alaric Hayes.” He shrugs. “The man is a monster, if that helps your conscience.”
You’re a monster, I want to scream.
Why he’s killing all the Alphas in the Northern territories is a mystery to all of us. I’ve talked with some of the other girls who have done these missions and they suspect he’s plotting to overthrow the whole Northern part of the forest. It’s scary, what the man in front of me is capable of.
A sweat breaks out on my neck, terror locking my muscles as memories beat against my skull, demanding attention.
Blood. So much it soaks the carpet. Pooling at my feet, crawling up my ankles-
I shake my head and swallow hard, dispelling the thoughts before they take hold.
“How long do I have?” I ask in a voice so quiet I’m surprised he hears me.
“A week.” He reaches out to grip my chin. “But if you’re smart, you’ll get it done sooner, won’t you?”
My stomach twists, nausea making my mouth water. I don’t realize I’m staring at the floor until his fingers tighten on my chin.
“Look at me when I’m speaking, girl.”
I look up into cold eyes full of irritation. The swirls of black pits are making my nausea worse.
“You do your job right, and you get to stay here.” He tilts his head. “Think of it as a test of sorts, yeah?”
I nod, unable to speak.
“Good. Now go get ready.” He walks to the door. “You have work to do.”
As soon as the door shuts I run to the bathroom attached to my bedroom, barely having time to shut the door and lean over the toilet before my stomach contents heave themselves out.
I can’t kill.
I can’t-
Blood everywhere. My socks are wet with red water, slipping between my toes and coating my skin. Mom isn’t moving.
I shove at the memories, trying to get them out, but I’m too weak, and they keep flooding back in.
I throw up again, unable to stop the onslaught of memories.
“Mommy?” I ask, but she just lies there. Why isn’t she moving? Why isn’t she-
“No,” I whisper, my eyes filling with tears. “Please stop.”
My stomach heaves until there’s nothing left. Sweat coats my skin as tremors rock my muscles, making it hard to stay upright.
My father grips my arms, hauling me away from my mother and dragging me down the hall. I try to scream but no sound comes.
“Stop,” I whimper to myself, so desperate to get my brain to shut off, to put the images back in the box and tape it off.
I’m no stranger to panic attacks. I’ve been having them ever since my parents passed, but I can usually tone it down after the first flashback.
They are getting worse, and I have a feeling my new assignment is the cause.
